


the boy who breathed metaphors

by baejacobist



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: #i also haven't slept at all so Ha nice to see u again dark circles, M/M, anyways have fun i was about to put a hashtag thinking this was tumblr goodbye, but i promise they are Not deleterious to your well-being my fellow carats, i honestly don't know what this is so i'm posting it here, it's also posted on aff so that's Nice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:17:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/baejacobist/pseuds/baejacobist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mingyu’s not afraid of mental hospitals—he’s afraid of the tornado of memories that’ll overwhelm him once he takes one step inside the building. However, time is fleeting and perhaps, creating a footprint inside the building is the key to forging a new and better memory that he can later reflect upon in the future and smile. When he meets a boy written with metaphors all over his body and whose passion pours out of his eyes at the sight of a blue pen, he realizes that maybe, he’s the insane one himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. hello, angel.

**Author's Note:**

> i don’t know what this is honestly but the meanie couple is my religion and this was supposed to be something for wonwoo’s birthday but it’s already three days later but you know what, enjoy! 
> 
> \---  
> quick author’s note: some of the members ages will be a little different to fit in with the theme of the story!

He refused to believe he’d actually agreed to it. Perhaps, it was all a nightmare. However, when he opened his eyes and scrutinized his surroundings, he carefully took in the plethora of fallen leaves flooding the ground, the sidewalks void of eager footsteps from countless students whose orbs clouded with desperation (except for some bicycles parked at one spot for the students who attended their extracurricular activities, he guessed), and the mahogany bench he settled him at comfortably about an hour ago which prompted him to realize that no, this was, in fact, not a dream.  
  
It’s all Kwon Soonyoung’s fault. It’s always Kwon Soonyoung’s fault. It was definitely his mistake to continuously miss two weeks of choreography rehearsals for the dance class he rendered himself obligated for after school and instead pays frequent rendezvous’ at the coffee shop several blocks from the academy to flirt with the barista. Also, it was completely his fault when the choreographer personally notified him about how his presence would be mandatory in class for at least an entire month to rectify his revolting amount of red markings on the attendance record. Nonetheless, his biggest mistake of the year was the fact that he had forgotten his monthly compulsory dance schedule started today and in fifteen minutes and he was supposed to provide Mingyu a ride home but unfortunately, it was as if, at that moment, the blonde-haired male finally came across the realization of how crucial the activity actually was.   
  
It was apparently much more significant than Mingyu.  
  
Kim Mingyu, a typical seventeen-year old adolescent with striking ebony locks sheathing the top of his delicate forehead, a slender frame accentuated by his genetically long legs, and rather attractive eyebrows. Like an ordinary high school student, he engages in forlorn attempts in discovering his genuine identity within the endless gallimaufry of historical textbooks, mathematical formulas, and elegiac poetry. He usually receives relatively adequate grades on almost every subject and despite his mother’s incessant encouragements for him to work harder, he’s under the belief that it’s both mentally and physically impossible for him to be the captain of the soccer team, a member of the swim team, and the recurring star athlete of the school’s basketball team.   
  
For the average population, it just wasn’t realistically manageable unless you were willing to sacrifice your sleep for the rest of your life.   
  
Yet there’s people (were they actually human beings?) like Hong Jisoo, a boy with a charming smile but an unquenchable thirst to be the valedictorian of their class. As far as Mingyu had known, Jisoo was the captain of the tennis team whom went as far with success as participating in a national competition in Europe, known to be the powerhouse that breaks all the records for the swim team, has voluntarily enrolled himself in as many Advanced Placement courses the school happens to be offering, volunteers at the local library to read to children Shakespearean literature (even Mingyu still doesn’t understand any of it), and there’s word on the street that he’s already taken some university placement examinations.   
  
_He’s not human,_ Mingyu liked to think.   
  
Within a conventional high school class, there’s almost always two individuals prepared to immerse themselves in a venomous battle to be the smartest kid in the grade. On the other end of the boxing ring for superior intellectuality was Lee Jihoon, short in height but world domination was written on the tracings of his palm. Although they were both aiming for the same objective, Jisoo and Jihoon were the polar opposite of each other. Mingyu could’ve sworn he’d seen Jihoon playing every single form of athleticism the institution has available and contribute in almost every extracurricular tasks on the list they’re given earlier in the semester. He’d also accidentally heard from a couple of his loquacious classmates that the latter had already published two novels, the first one in eighth grade.   
  
_He’s not human either,_ Mingyu repeated to himself.   
  
Though his successful classmates created a great sense of fascination in his life as well as a slight disappointment about what exactly was he doing with his monotonous existence, that wasn’t his problem at the moment. It was something even more serious, more problematic, more terrifying.   
  
Ten years ago, when Mingyu was still a young, innocent seven year-old, his mother had just picked him up from school yet amidst the scraping sound of the tires against the pavement, she’d suddenly halted the engine of the vehicle and had gotten off her seat to quickly grab some entity on her desk that she had forgotten earlier in the afternoon. _“You wanna come inside?”_ Mingyu seemed to have had that phrase planted inside his brain for it was the beginning of an unforgettable memory that would truly traumatize his thoughts but change his perspective. He probably shouldn’t have said yes! with such animation in his eyes but for he had an inquisitive mind and and a passion to explore novel things, he did.   
  
When the young moppet first pushed the entrance door open, he knitted his eyebrows quizzically along with a perplexed expression adorning his small visage for every place his adventurous eyes roamed, the structure was splashed with a thick, unpigmented hue. Within the three desolated hallways―except for a few people whom were wearing a white uniform―that extended into three different directions―left, right, and straight―the cemented walls stretching across were bathed mercilessly with the color white, the delicate blinds that behaved as a protective barrier for the danger of the outside world were also colored white, and the multitudinous albeit pristine square tiles on the floor were also an effect of a neutral hue revolution. He didn’t specifically know what the reason was but he’d solely been inside the building for two minutes, but he already wanted to leave.   
  
There was something in the way that almost every furniture and every form visible to the naked human eye resembled the color of the grasses under the winter sky as if no other color in the spectrum even existed. There was something in the way that after he capitulated himself to his curiosity and sneaked a momentary glimpse at the empty hallway, he immediately bolted to where he had stood before because he saw something―a glass window―and for a split second, someone. There was something in the way that a part of him yearned helplessly to exit from the location and to go purchase an ice cream cone from their favorite crèmerie but the other part of him wanted to stay, wanted to wander down the hallway and unearth the unanswered questions floating around his mind, and most importantly, wanted to know.   
  
Suddenly, his mind proceeded to succumb into the excruciating silence of the environment and for a second, he was puzzled, but the thought that he probably shouldn’t have drank the two water bottles consecutively inside the car a few minutes ago entered his consciousness.   
  
“Mama, I need to pee!” The little boy wailed, strong indications of regret written all over his countenance. Whether it was because of the water or from something else, the answer remained a mystery.   
  
“Just hold it in for now, sweetheart,” Mrs. Kim replied softly. “I can’t find the paper I’m looking for but I promise we’ll be home in a few minutes and you can pee there.”  
  
“But, I need to pee now!” Mingyu pleaded, tears brimming in his eyes. He had always been known to be a little stubborn.  
  
“I know, honey, but--” The woman’s sentence would soon remain unfinished upon facing an interruption that blatantly wasn’t her own son’s voice.   
  
“You need to pee? Come on, I’ll show you the bathroom,” A gentle yet strangely melodious voice commented from behind his back and as soon as he turned around, he was met with the most beautiful, sprinkled with the remnants of a melting chocolate, eyes he’d ever seen in his life. He couldn’t help but instantly notice that he―guessing from the kid’s slightly baritone voice―had long, brunette locks pulled into a loose ponytail and a lovely flower crown sitting on top of his head. He couldn’t completely distinguish whether the “kid” was a couple of years older than him or he was the older one because in all honesty, an inexplicable feeling has dawned in his soul and it’s that kind of emotion where you see something so ethereal that you’re convinced you’re only dreaming but you actually aren’t.   
  
Before he could muster a response to the angelic being in front of him, his mother promptly exclaimed, “Get away from my son!” before sweeping Mingyu off the spotless ground into a tight grasp and carrying him towards her desk.   
  
Unbeknownst to him, his gaze never did avert away from the unknown angelic figure several feet away from him and neither did the other. After about a few minutes of frozen silence and intense staring, his undivided attention was then averted towards his mother and said, “Mama, I don’t see what’s wrong. Why did you do that?”  
  
The elegant female studied her son’s expression for a second. “You don’t understand. You are still too young. You will understand it better when you’re older. But for now, you must listen to me,” An imploring tone was added into her voice. “That kid is dangerous. He will hurt you.”   
  
Eyebrows furrowed into a state of utter confusion and plump lips contorting into a frown, the innocent child sent the mystifying boy at the other end of the room another glance, perceiving that the latter’s eyes never did looked away from him. Perhaps, he should’ve felt strange about the kid―he’s desperate to know his name―practically piercing his gaze through his soul but the strange thing was...he wasn’t. There was something in the enigmatic boy’s eyes that he couldn’t quite pinpoint although there was a word for it that he’d heard his teacher utilize in a conversation with another teacher about her family but it was something, something that enlightened his mind; something that helped him realize that this boy, with the unwavering eyes and dry lips, may have appeared to be juvenile on the outside but on the inside, he’s witnessed life at its worst and lived it. Maybe that’s why his mother called him dangerous.   
  
“Ma’am, we’re so sorry,” A group of five masculine men sporting identical attires from bleached loose pants that fell effortlessly down to their ankles, a white tee-shirt bereft of any graphic designs, to a pair of colorless sneakers, some with stain and some abnormally immaculate emerged from the backyard door.   
  
“I don’t understand why you guys could be so careless,” Mrs. Kim shook her head in disbelief before she continued, “...failing to look after a troubled child like that. He could’ve hurt my child, you know.”  
  
_No, he couldn’t,_ Mingyu wanted to interject but he decided it was better not to.   
  
“We truly apologize, Ma’am, we brought him out to the yard to play for a few minutes because it’s his birthday but I guess we just turned around for a quick second and he just disappeared,” A man with entangled blonde hair with an appearance of an individual approaching their early twenties clarified.   
  
“It’s your birthday?” The younger male sitting on top of the desk abruptly blurted out, garnering appalled demeanors from the other individuals in the room.   
  
Expecting the cryptic stranger―he really needs to know his name―to verbalize a response filled with exhilaration―like the way Mingyu feels when his name gets miraculously pulled out of the plastic cup to hold responsibility for the ‘mystery box’ because he was always fond of discussing about his toys―or at least say a phrase, a word, or just something that reassures him that when the time comes and he makes his way out the glass door with the word **‘Exit’** inscripted in enormous, bold letters above, he wants to know that he is okay and he will be okay.   
  
However, all he receives from the other is a faint nod of his head, or perchance he was just hallucinating and the subtle movement was purely out of his imagination, but even if no other sentient souls had witnessed the nod for it was almost imperceptible, he did and that was all he needed.   
  
His dry mouth longed to open, longed to spill out a concatenation of endless questions darted right towards the boy with the ponytail, the mystery boy. A flood of thoughts and more thoughts swirled around his mind like a rollercoaster ride, stopping and then descending, stopping again and then descending, with the whole process repeating itself. He wanted to pull the delicate boy into a huge embrace, persuade him to believe that it’s all going to be okay (even though Mingyu knows it’s probably not), shower him with all the excessive gadgets and knickknacks he possesses sprawled all around the floor of his bedroom, and the most imperative one of all: talk to him. To have a conversation with him.   
  
Out of a sudden, all of his cornucopia of notions, desires, and emotions shattered into broken fragments of themselves with a bang! after unexpectedly hearing the mysterious boy bawl the life out of himself. An astonishing transformation from his adorable voice joined with excitement earlier, his wails were like thunder roaring on a stormy sky; thrilling and deafening and as the five men each assigned themselves to hold a firm grip on particular sections of his body, his hopeless attempts of escape by kicking, punching, screaming louder, and even threatening to bite them made Mingyu’s heart ache in agony.   
  
He watched pitifully, his attentive eyes never seeming to blink, as the formidable men carried the mystery boy down the hallway on the left. He wanted to run down the hallway, chase them like a ravenous wolf seeking for a prey, and protect the angel they’re gripping on rather tightly with their muscular arms. But, he couldn’t. He was just a child, an immature seven-year old who couldn’t possibly have known anything about the world. He didn’t understand the complexities of life; he didn’t understand pain. Nevertheless, his gaze remains stationary on the virile figures whose footsteps resonates each time they took a step forward and after seeing them insert some kind of pill inside the boy’s mouth, the squalling finally reaching a conclusion, he inspected the mystery boy carefully from afar with a bit of anxiety and when he saw that he was still breathing, he decided to take one too.   
  
Ethereal is a word that’s defined as extremely delicate and light in a way that seems too perfect for this world―that was how the dictionary interpreted it. However, to Mingyu, ethereal had a different definition. Ethereal was the boy with the long, chocolate locks cascading down his head like a waterfall with the most aesthetic eyes he’d ever laid his eyes upon. Ethereal was the boy with the penetrating gaze as if it could shoot out lasers in merely a few milliseconds, the boy who was prone to subtle behaviors that only certain people who understood him discerned, and the boy who goes through troubles finding a home when all he needs is a minute to glance above at the stars and realize that his home is closer than he would’ve thought, in the sea of glimmering constellations.   
  
He was the boy with anguish written in his eyes and fear in his heart.   
  
Ever since that encounter, the little seven-year old boy who would soon turn ten, to fifteen, and to seventeen, continued to wish the mystery boy for better days and for better memories. Up until now, it’s still haunting him that he didn’t learn the latter’s name, but it’s okay, because when they meet again, his eyes will know.   
  
. . . . .   
  
Now that he was apparently older, he finally learned that his mother is an employee―in fact, the head employee―in a mental hospital. The entire colorless setting was to ostensibly provide a therapeutic and comforting environment for the afflicted patients behind the transparent glass windows who are at the culminating point where their insanity is no longer a component of their life. During this enlightening monologue by his mother, Mingyu didn’t really pay attention that much, only picking up some essential words here and there, because all he could concentrate on was the amount of patients trapped behind that cage whom were believed to be insane but have just actually seen the horrendous side of humanity.   
  
“I just don’t understand,” Mingyu stood in front of the vitreous counter, propping his elbow on one side. “It just doesn’t make sense...and I just don’t know what to do and it’s just--” Before more words could pour out of his mind, in a nonsensical manner, the guy behind the counter with the eternally radiant eye-smile and an even vibrant grin dancing on his lips interrupted him.   
  
“Mingyu, listen to me,” Seokmin began. “You just barged in here a minute ago and started blabbering about not understanding whatever it is that you’re talking about,” His voice had a distinct, soothing sound. He would make a good singer, Mingyu thought. “So, please, explain what is going on with your life and I’ll be willing to help you as much as you need.”  
  
He never could quite comprehend clearly the reason why Seokmin would give himself permission to be romantically pursued by Kwon Soonyoung. Perhaps, it was because they shared some similar qualities and similar perspectives especially when it comes to politics― _“Lee Jihoon needs to graduate quickly already so he’ll become president and give us world peace,”_ ―but at the end of the night, with Soonyoung spitting expletives while playing an obsolete version of Flappy Bird and Seokmin engrossed in his shifts, sometimes until midnight to earn more money for his family, both as a barista in the coffee shop and at a radio station in which he goes by his moniker, **“DK,”** they were quite different. Though perhaps, there are times in the world where you’ll meet someone so different from yourself and the more you get to know them better, the more you realize just how much you need them to stay.   
  
“Mingyu,” The taller male immediately snapped out of his reverie after having heard the mention of his name. He shifted his head a bit only to see a Seokmin looking more sympathetic than ever proceeding, “I know you’re jealous about Soonyoung and I. I get it. He’s your best friend and he always prioritizes me before you so on my behalf, I’m sorry. I know you’ll find the one that will truly love you in the future.”   
  
Astounded by the older’s assumption, Mingyu replied with a gasp, “What are you talking about? I’m not envious of you two, you guys can do your thing,” A soft chuckle escaped from his mouth. “Plus, you talk as if you and Soonyoung-hyung are a married couple or something. I hate to break it to you but you are still technically in the flirting stage so..”   
  
“Okay, hold up,” The brunette-haired male with the signature gummy smile held his hand up as a signal. “Why are we turning this conversation into my love life? I thought this was supposed to be about you.”  
  
“You started it!” Mingyu insisted, a tone uncharacteristically louder than usual.  
  
This time, Seokmin’s expression contorted into that of utter concern. The Kim Mingyu he’s known ever since fifth grade was filled with enthusiasm for everything that triggered his interest from basketball to luxuriating into the world of poetry (although that one only lasted for about two hours) and was always a lover of life (although at times, he had his ugly moments). The Kim Mingyu he’s learned to acknowledge wouldn’t typically come to him for advice about an existential crisis because first of all, he knows he’s preoccupied all the time with his studies and his two niches, and also, Mingyu is well-aware that Seokmin already has enough predicaments to resolve at his own home and he doesn’t want to feel like a burden to him. Perhaps, at this moment, Kim Mingyu really needed his assistance.   
  
“I’m. . . scared,” Mingyu stuttered, his lips trembling a little bit in the process.   
  
Seokmin was even more concerned than before. He was a little scared too. “Why? Is something going to happen?”  
  
“I. . . I need to go to. . .” He didn’t even possessed enough courage to enunciate the name of the place without his horror intensifying. “a. . . mental. . .hospital.” He felt good for finally being able to say it.   
  
“Oh my god!” Seokmin exclaimed, his voice growing louder than usual. It was a benefit that the shop was relatively isolated with individuals except for an ingenue with pigtails in the corner and her laptop, both ears covered with headphones, as well as a teenage boy with glasses, wearing earbuds, and reading a novel because that scream would have attracted a lot of attention.  
  
“Mingyu, what in the world are you talking about? Why are you being taken to a mental hospital? You are pretty smart and you’re really athletic and I think you’d be accepted into a very nice college and you’re pretty handsome too so you’ll be able to get a decent job but that is just so, I don’t know, like sad. Like, you have a whole life to live and suddenly, you’re just being trapped in something equivalent to a prison because your sanity is lost,” Mingyu continued to impatiently wait for the perfect time to interfere with his badinage but for some reason, he just never stops talking. “Mingyu, I promise, I will visit you often there. I’ll even bring Soonyoung with me. I can’t believe your jealousy of us has really gotten this serious.”   
  
When the last word of his speech had ended, the transparent door of the coffee shop immediately closed along with Mingyu’s presence and Seokmin decided to give himself a gentle pat on the back and after taking a quick sip of his fresh cup of mocha latté finally muttered, “I knew that would drive him away. Good job, Lee Seokmin. You are the master of repelling people!”  
  
. . . .   
  
Mingyu doesn’t know what he’s doing standing in front of the hospital’s entrance door, his mind contemplating the possibilities of what kinds of situations will he personally witness with his own eyes and the sickening discoveries he’ll inadvertently unearth in a universe overshadowed with nothing but the color white. The color might’ve been scientifically proven as a curative layout for those who are suffering with psychosomatic tribulations but to the other citizens of the world who still held their sanity, it’s quite unappealing. As much as he wanted to express his detestation towards the site, he understood because he was seventeen. Seventeen-year olds understand everything but seven-year olds don’t.   
  
He doesn’t have a fear of the place; he’s just a little bit worried that when he sets his foot inside the entrance door, all the past recollections that he’d wanted to conceal into the deepest parts of his brain would just inundate him as if Pandora’s box has been opened.   
  
_Is mystery boy inside? But, what if he’s inside?_  
 _Would he remember my face? Or, my eyes?_  
 _What if. . .if he’s not there? Where could they have taken him?_  
 _Did he finally find his home? Or maybe, he ran away?_  
  
“Sir, you’ve been staring at the door for quite a while. Are you gonna come in?” Reverting back to reality from hearing a rather soft, delicate voice—that seemed reminiscent but at the same time, didn’t—question behind him, he quickly turned around, taken aback by a man with locks that were sprinkled with sweet sunshine flowing down to his shoulder blades and genuine, dark-brown eyes. His eyes widened in shock for a bit before realizing that no, the man in front of him wasn’t mystery boy for they looked too different even after puberty.   
  
“You. . .” Mingyu started, taking another quick glance into the other’s eyes. He studied his amygdaliform eyes with intent, trying to see if he can discover something. That something. “Who are you?”  
  
With an amused smile spreading across his face, the long-haired male responded, “I’m the pizza delivery guy, sir. And, I really need to deliver this inside because I have more customers waiting with starving stomachs.”   
  
Mingyu couldn’t deny the fact that his day has just been brightened up by his smile. “...Oh, I’m coming inside so I’ll just take that for you,” Mingyu suggested, instantly extending his arms out to grab the scorching pepperoni pizza from the other’s grasp. Despite confusion dawning on him upon the stranger offering such a kind deed, he decided to send him an affable smile before saying, “Thank you very much,” but for some reason, looking directly into the tall stranger’s eyes even for just a brief moment, it seemed so familiar as if he’s met him in some circumstance before yet he just doesn’t remember when or where. Nonetheless, he came upon the realization that he had more deliveries to accomplish and wasn’t entitled to wasting his time attempting to remember a stranger he doesn’t even remember.   
  
“You’re welcome,” Mingyu flashed him a bright, wholehearted smile before not forgetting to glance at the small placard on his chest with the words, ‘Yoon Jeonghan’, inscripted on it and it was as if at that moment, everything made sense.   
  
As Jeonghan was about to settle himself on his motorcycle while simultaneously putting the protective helmet on his head, Mingyu immediately inquired, “Hey...do you have any, like, life advices or mottos that you live by? I’m still a high school student so, I’m just curious.”  
  
“Ah, I’m just a pizza delivery guy, you know,” He playfully joked, letting out a laugh. Nevertheless, he exhaled a deep breath and looked at Mingyu with a soft smile before saying, “My biggest advice for you would be to forget the past. If you can’t easily forget things, then move on from the past. There’s always going to be memories that are going to plague you, perhaps the tragic ones or the saddest ones, but think of the great memories you’ll be able to make in the future. It’s hard to not have a lot of regrets because we, as humans, like to reflect and there’s so many things that we could’ve done differently. If there was someone in your past that you’d want to apologize to, forgive, help, or confess to, then do it. Live in the present and make great memories so when you’re in the future, you’ll reflect on your past, and smile.”  
  
Mingyu would be lying if he’d claimed that he wasn’t impressed and inspired.   
  
“Wow, just a pizza delivery guy, huh,” Mingyu remarked, lips curved into a playful beam.  
  
“What about you?” Jeonghan asked, eyes still focused on Mingyu. “Any life lessons for me?”  
  
Scratching the back of his head, he sneaked a momentary glimpse at the man sitting on his motorcycle, his helmet held protectively on his grasp as if it’s a newborn infant, the enormous box surreptitiously concealing more boxes of pizzas, the beautiful, lingering smile present on his face, and the pair of awaiting eyes shining brighter than any stars in the galaxy, Mingyu finally uttered, “Just. . . find your home. Find the place where you feel like you can be yourself, the place where you can relinquish your perturbed mind, the place where you can fit in, where you belong. Sometimes, it’s closer than you think. But. . . it looks you’ve already found it.”   
  
Jeonghan could only smile wider as a response because he realized that the pizzas were probably succumbing to a cold temperature and after bidding goodbye to the younger male, he immediately drove off to the distance.   
  
Mingyu knew that was him. The mystery boy’s name was Yoon Jeonghan. At first, he wasn’t completely convinced because after all, ten fleeting years have already passed by and if one can recognize an individual in that span of years, they must either be insane or have exceptional memory abilities. He was neither one of those things. However, he was observant. When Jeonghan was preoccupied in exposing his life lesson towards him, he kept watching his eyes, waiting for that something to surface out of his iris, and towards the inevitable last sentence, the scintilla of anguish permeated around his eyes but Mingyu’s favorite part was when it had faded. Now that he had learned that Jeonghan, a.k.a mystery boy, was content with his life, that he was beginning to live the best of life, that he had found his home, he could now forget the besetting episodes of his past and live in the present, in the moment.   
  
Thanks to an angel.


	2. extraterrestrial.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mingyu walks down the hallway only to finally discover what really was behind the glass window.

He dreamed of a quiet place, the kind of agonizing quietness mixed with a hint of fright almost as if it’s a haunted house, a place with white-washed walls, windows, floors, furnitures, and almost everything else, and it was impossible to formulate his feelings into words: the thrill trailing down his spine, the noisy palpitations from his chest, the trembling of his limbs. . . It wasn’t until he gradually opens his eyes, took in the beauty of his surroundings, did he realize it wasn’t actually a dream. Or a nightmare, even.   
  
However, in between wiping away the remnants of drowsiness glued to his eyes to his mouth letting out a long-lasting yawn, he examined every entity he could catch with his slightly blurry vision and proceeded on arching a brow upwards after registering inside his mind that he didn’t recognize the room. The male with the brunette locks instinctively―albeit a bit hesitantly―stood up from the sofa he was sprawled on a fleeting second ago, wandering around aimlessly.   
  
He was born curious. He was introduced to this universe with a mind already replenished with ideas, thoughts, and unanswered wonders. He was willing to go through any challenges presented towards him, any obstacles blocking his path, whether it’d be a stimulating odyssey or a grueling expedition, he was determined to go out into the world and to decipher the mysteries humanity has yet to grasp. He was willing to make a difference, no matter how trivial it may ought to be.   
  
The first thing he laid his attention upon was a book, as thick as the soles of his worn-out sneakers, and without a trace of reluctance, picked it up. After flipping through the countless pages, finding himself from page ten to fifty-eight in a matter of seconds, he quickly learned that it was a compendium sheathed with a variety of medical terms that he both deemed as unrecognizable nor bothered to even attempt the pronunciations and returned it back on the shelf, just as fast as he picked it up.   
  
The next thing that sparked the young adolescent’s preoccupation was a lavender envelope lying innocuously on the mahogany desk―the first thing, ever, in the entire building he’s seen that wasn’t colorless. At first, he shamelessly spent a brief minute staring at the colorful stationery and mentally cursed whoever selected the hue because to his eyes, it looked too harmless, too inviting, too worthy to tear apart and read the contents camouflaged beneath all of its glory. Despite his tentative deliberation about the consequences and why exactly was he doing this, the arms of curiosity wrapped around his wrist like a hissing snake and without much consideration, he unveiled a piece of paper flawlessly folded in half, unfolded it, and began to silently read the first sentence.   
  
**Hello, doctor. I’d just like to thank you for those medications you’ve provided me three years ago because I’m definitely feeling a lot better now. The pain in my head has dissipated; I can already feel it. I still remember the loneliness I always felt, the fury growing inside me, how tortuous it felt being locked up like some kind of bird, but I’m trying my hardest to forget them. It’s difficult, but I’m trying. I’m an idol now, a singer specifically, you’ve seen my face on TV, right? It feels really good to stand on stage. The members don’t know about my story and I don’t think I’m ready to sit down and tell them yet or ever so I’m happy to have a fresh start for now. Also, thank you for taking in my younger brother and please take good care of him really well! His brain didn’t suffer as much as I did but we went through the same heinous experience together so there’s still some memories in there. After all, he’s still so young, and when you see him next time, please tell him that I said hi! If he still remembers me, that is. I really missed him. Anyways, that’ll be it for now―I’ll write another letter three years from now. Have a great day!**  
  
**― Kim Heechul; 10:14 A.M.**  
  
Before getting an opportunity to elicit a reaction after devouring the entire letter with his eyes, the last thing he caught a glimpse at inside the strange room was the flabbergasted expression crawling on his mother’s visage. He wasn’t sure whether or not he was hallucinating because after all, he was inside a mental hospital so the effect seems plausible of happening, but after taking small and deliberate steps to the direction of his mother’s figure and bringing his right hand up to touch her face, he was instantly met with a dismissive slap on his arm and a, “What do you think you’re doing, Kim Mingyu?”  
  
Realizing that it’s actually his mother―and definitely not a hologram or a deceptive illusion of her appearance―a sheepish smile made its way on his lips and after scratching the back of his head gently, he stammered, “Oh, Mama, hey. . . S-sorry, I just wasn’t sure if I was seeing things or not. I just woke up and it looks like my dream came true.”  
  
“Why do you have that letter in your hand?” The woman questioned quizzically, her eyebrows furrowed.  
  
He glanced down at his dangling hand for a moment, the sheet of paper looking as if it could fall at any second. “Oh, I was just. . . I was―uh―” It suddenly occurred to him that he doesn’t have a proper, legitimate, and believable excuse. He didn’t even have the slightest clue why he had the courage to unravel the envelope in the first place. Was it the color? His inquisitive mind? “It was. . . I thought it was for me.”  
  
“For you? How?” Mrs. Kim further inquired, a graffiti of skepticism displaying all over the features of her countenance.   
  
Mingyu didn’t like it when his mother wanted him to admit to a wrongdoing. He was never fond of that feeling of electrifying pressure of being placed into the spot and having to expose himself. Nonetheless, he decided his effort of prevarication might’ve had, even if it was a tiny, infinitesimal speck, of chance and replied, “I thought I was in my bedroom, sorry. I thought we were home already.”  
  
“You just got here fifteen minutes ago,” Mrs. Kim retaliated, shaking her head in sheer disbelief.  
  
He refused to believe that only fifteen minutes has flown by ever since he had dashed out of the coffee shop Seokmin practically called home, taken a relaxing stroll accompanied by the sound of his heart pounding in apprehension down the sidewalk, finding himself staring at his reflection on the hospital’s crystalline door for what seemed like an endless ticking of the clock, coincidentally meeting the boy he’s been missing with every bits of fiber in his psyche yet intimidated by at the same time, and finally receiving the audacity to push the entrance door open with a warm box of pepperoni pizzas slowly seething through the veins buried within the creases of his palms.   
  
Those couldn’t have happened within a fifteen minute interval―they just couldn’t.  
  
Without any exchange of any more words coming out of their mouths, Mrs. Kim immediately grabbed the slip of paper away from her son’s grasp right before exhaling a heavy sigh of disappointment. A small pout on his lips, Mingyu watched as his mother carefully inserted the piece of paper back into its rightful place inside the smoothed envelope and into one of the drawers attached to the desk. He didn’t know who Kim Heechul was, why he wrote that letter, why his mother seemed abnormally—almost alarmingly—furious upon seeing the letter on his hold, but what he felt he was bound to discover was the brother’s identity.   
  
His small bladder was, as simply as it could be said, a weakness. A debilitating weakness.  
  
Just merely a minute ago, he recalled being trapped in a frozen atmosphere filled with tension between his mother and himself. The clearing of his throat every five minutes as his embarrassed eyes adhered to the circular clock towering over him across the room, the sighs of disappointment emitted by his mother whom had situated herself on a designated rolling chair upholstered by a black and white covering that crescendoed each time, the way all her undivided attention was focused towards her cellphone and Mingyu mentally erupted into profanities because his smartphone was out of battery for spending too much time playing Pokemon—it was just awkward.  
  
Therefore, as much as he wanted to maintain a tenacious grip on letting his mother speak to him first, a functional organ scientifically known as his bladder thought otherwise. He had asked the dark-haired woman if he could use the bathroom, a part of him expecting a volcanic explosion of denial, but after seeing his mother shrugging her shoulders and index finger pointing towards the direction of the door, he couldn’t easily dismiss the little hint of surprise appearing on his face. His mother agreed. She actually agreed. As in gave him permission to amble through the halls, he guessed, because he really didn’t know where the bathroom was located at. He exited the door, shutting it as gently as possible, not really knowing where the bathroom was but knowing just where to go.   
  
The thought of his mother actually—audibly—allowing him to meander around the mental hospital by himself was astounding, not that he minded. That was when he realized that he’s no longer seven anymore, that he’s no longer a child that needed to be supervised but rather an independent teenager that’d be graduating soon and leaving home to go to college. He was seventeen years old, and as he scanned his eyes around the isolated hallway, he decided that maybe being seventeen wasn’t so bad after all.   
  
Maybe he should’ve asked his mother where the bathroom was located at beforehand because as an individualistic seventeen year old would say, he was lost.   
  
Upon finally making an arbitrary decision and taking small albeit tentative steps in the hallway that continued straight ahead, he couldn’t help but examine his surroundings with intent, taking in the cemented walls completely vandalized with white paint and the roof presumably created from cement as well hovering over him with its whitened glory. For some reason, he also couldn’t help the feeling of vague apprehension dawning inside of him that there’s a prospect of something looming from the quietude, something intriguing or scary, maybe, but he was excited for it. To him, it almost felt like he was begging for something to emerge in its enthralling or hazardous nature. He’d seen The Conjuring, The Notebook, and several science fiction films before so it shouldn’t be so bad.   
  
Apparently, there could be sights more horrifying, more paralyzing, and certainly worse than any scenarios in The Conjuring.   
  
The first aspect he’d laid his eyes upon was the toughened glass window on his right side as well as an identical one on his left side. He could easily recognize that it was the same one he’d caught an ephemeral glance at back ten years ago yet this time, it was different and perhaps, better, because he was able to see the entire furniture in front of him. He’d engaged in a minute of contemplation whether he’d wanted to bring his hand up and caress the glass to check how much resistance it held—not that it really mattered—but when he did, realizing that it was as infrangible as Soonyoung’s endearment towards Seokmin, he was taken aback by something or rather, someone, moving underneath the blanket.   
  
Initially, as his feet instinctively remained stationary on the linoleum floor, he began debating on what exactly was the perfect strategy to act upon such an unforeseen circumstance he’d just recently witnessed. A part of him pleaded to bolt away from his spot, to sprint as if an ominous tornado was chasing behind him, and pledge to never return to the edifice for the rest of his life because as quoted from Mingyu’s mind, there is a person in there. However, the other remaining part of him was the opposite for it wanted him to stay, to watch what was once a mystery unfold within the blink of an eye, and to stop having regrets in the future about the memories that never transpired because sometimes, it’s the memories left unseen and uncherished that could possibly change your life.  
  
In the end, the outcome of half of his brain arguing severely with the other half of his encephalon, he gallantly chose the option to stay. It wasn’t because one half of his mind was more powerful than the other or that his curiosity instincts influenced him (maybe a little) but it was because of Yoon Jeonghan’s words replaying and resonating inside his head. To live a successful life, to be able to understand what life really feels like, Mingyu couldn’t take opportunities for granted—he had to be willing to face challenges, to step out of his comfort zone, because just like what Jeonghan said, when he reflects on his past in the upcoming future, he wanted the memories to be happy because he wanted to smile.   
  
His name was Choi Seungcheol—Mingyu had found out from reading the tag on the top right-side corner of the window in bold letters and unblemished. He also learned that he had dark hair that went as far as covering his forehead, dark eyes, and an approachable smile without displaying his teeth from the photograph right below the paper. Other than that, he didn’t really know anything else. After managing to take a quick peek inside the glass, he was met with the guy’s—Seungcheol’s—sleeping figure, stirring a little bit, and seemed to be murmuring a few unintelligible words as Mingyu had assumed as he’d noticed his mouth opening and closing a couple of times. No sound was able to penetrate through the glass but Mingyu had a keen eyesight and he’d known that Seungcheol might’ve decided sleeping would be the best medicine to forget all the worries guzzling the neurons in his brain but he’d had no idea a nightmare was coming.   
  
Across the hall was another stainless window but yet this time, the inhabitant wasn’t asleep. Instead he was staring pensively into the colorless partition standing in front of him, his gaze fierce and unwavering as if he’s imagining that at any minute, the wall will disintegrate into broken fragments of asphalt. His name was Xu Minghao, a boy with dark hair and dark eyes but his smile wasn’t dark—it was a beam that emphasized his beautifully aligned teeth and reminded Mingyu of sunshine on a summer day or a rainbow after a rain. That was the boy in the picture. The boy behind the glass was different. He still dark hair and dark eyes but there was no sunshine smile. In fact, there wasn’t even a smile. The boy’s lips looked lifeless; he looked lifeless.   
  
Mingyu wished the glass window wasn’t so resistant so he’d be able to tell the boy about how stupid it was to think that you could break down the walls by just using your eyes.   
  
As the tall male continued his way down the hall, he was met with another unbreakable glass window. He’d just now fully acknowledged that perhaps, every single hallway had the nondescript little chambers carved on the sides but far enough for an innocent visitor to discern at first glance. Or maybe, every single soul that had stepped inside the building had known about the small rooms and Mingyu was just oblivious but that wasn’t his point at the moment because he was seeing something definitely more interesting.   
  
Inside the glass window on his left side was a boy wearing pitch-black trousers, a black vest, and an artificial afro wig in the midst of falling on the ground vehemently dancing to Michael Jackson’s Billy Jean. Mingyu didn’t know whether to cachinnate, disregarding the flashbacks of Soonyoung’s remarks about how weird his laugh was, or to call the doctor. Eventually, he’d settled on the former. The name tag had the name ‘Lee Chan’ inscripted on it and from his complimentary picture, Mingyu indubitably knew that the afro was counterfeit. At one point in time, as Chan moved to Thriller—He wasn’t sure if there was music inside but the dance was recognizable—their eyes locked yet Chan remained undisturbed. His performance proceeded on.  
  
That was when Mingyu’s face contorted into a frown and doubting the hospital’s accuracy because how could such a great dancer be deemed as insane?  
  
Not all those who dances are actually great dancers. A perfect example was Choi Hansol, a boy sculptured with rather foreign features to the eyes of a native Korean and a smile that was more of a sneer. Mingyu found himself watching as the boy became absorbed on a repetitive choreography that involved one leg in front of the other as if running, both hands positioned into a thumbs-up, and lots of movements. Mingyu recognized it as the Running Man Challenge. Soonyoung has done it before—he might’ve dragged Mingyu into doing it too but that was another story. Mingyu wanted to cackle at the sight but with Hansol dancing so naturally like he’s done it so many times before, the taller male was more fascinated than anything.   
  
Mingyu was clueless why Hansol seemed unstoppable—he’s been watching for twenty minutes—but he had two conjectures in mind such as 1) he was just addicted to it and 2) he wanted to believe he could be a running man, run from the barriers blocking his way, and run to freedom.   
  
He ended up settling for the former because the second one was far way too poetic to be true.   
  
The subsequent chamber respectively belonged to Wen Junhui. The guy had dark locks halting right on his upper back, a trait that momentarily reminded him of Jeonghan, ferocious eyes, and an invisible smile. He didn’t know when the images were actually taken but he definitely noticed the differences between the individuals portrayed in the photos to the actual person. Junhui wasn’t engrossed in any activities like the others—he was stoic. He was gazing right through the window, elbow propped up on a wooden top with his palm holding his chin, eyes fixated at Mingyu then to the ground. A frown slithered on Mingyu’s expression and he pondered on saying something but he didn’t know what until he was reminded of the glass. That changed everything.   
  
He was the first person that Mingyu has seen that stayed true to the character in the picture. Ebony locks, sharp nose, piercing eyes, thin lips, and a razor-edged jawline adorned the enigmatic boy’s countenance. Peering inside the window a few feet away, Mingyu couldn’t help noticing how quiet the boy was even despite the glass boundary, how he seemed so phlegmatic, and how serene he appeared to be in Mingyu’s perspective as if he’s imagining himself somewhere else at the moment. He glanced at the raven-haired male again, immediately taken aback when the said boy accidentally looked up from the floor and met his eyes.   
  
His eyes weren’t as dark as the photograph had captured—it was chocolate. Mingyu didn’t like how essentially none of the pictures he’d seen fulfilled a realistic depiction but that was okay for there are times when you discover more beautiful things than what is illustrated by the click of a camera. The eye-contact continued, their gaze towards each other unfaltering as if they were on a mission to prove the existence of telepathy, and Mingyu swore he’d never once blinked.   
  
Lost in the thought of an intermittent staring competition, Mingyu was abruptly snapped back out to reality when a loud banging sound coming from behind him became audible to his ears. Glancing at the boy once more who’d never averted his eyes away from him, he turned around and spotted a boy with a radiant smile decorating his face, signaling him to come over with his hands. Sneaking another glimpse towards the mysterious, ebony-haired boy, he could feel a little sigh of disappointment escaping out of his lips when he’d noticed he’d already looked away but hastily banished it from his mind because of how meaningless it was. He started making his way to the boy on the other side, having the desire to look back one more time, but ended up trailing forward.   
  
The boy’s name was Boo Seungkwan and for once, Mingyu was actually grateful that there was a glass window in between them which rendered sounds inaudible because the kid was a conversation on its own. From behind the glass, Mingyu could witness how rapid the movements of his mouth were as if he was in the middle of recording his upcoming mixtape. However, to say that Seungkwan was ecstatic having seen an individual, or maybe there was just something about him that gravitated others, was an understatement. For the last five minutes, the kid had gotten up and danced to the latest girl group hits—Mingyu’s _really_ good with choreography—, munched on a bag of barbecue chips, reenacted Romeo and Juliet, and brushed his hair. The taller male was delighted that at least there was someone that appreciated his rendezvous, no matter how extreme.  
  
It would be a lie to claim that Mingyu didn’t want to talk because he really wanted to talk. Seungkwan would be a decent conversationalist, he’d supposed, but the presence of the glass window played as an enormous impediment. He’d wanted to get to know the people he’s casually passed by in the hallways, he’d wanted to listen to their riveting stories, he’d wanted to reassure them that everything will be okay and being ostracized from reality wasn’t so bad but then it occurred to him that there must’ve been a reason why they were locked up.   
  
For some unidentifiable reason, he’d ended up walking towards the direction of his staring contest opponent’s chamber after realizing that he’d already reached the end of the hallway. He’d expected the trail to have extended out longer but he was completely oblivious to how many minutes, or even hours, has he actually squandered wandering around. Along with Seungkwan sleeping on the other side and an alarmed expression creeping on the quiet boy’s face, Mingyu had a sudden feeling of the spot being a destination. He felt as if he’d left something unfinished, that fate wasn’t planning for his encounter to end like that, and so, he returned.   
  
He must’ve stood there, on the same exact spot he’d been for the last fifteen minutes, for too long because the pain seeping through the bones in his calves to his legs was a great indicator. He yearned to do something, to think of something, to say something towards the boy but communication was practically impossible. It wasn’t until the boy looked up once again and their eyes locked that Mingyu realized he had a paper and a pen.   
  
“What’s your name?” Mingyu mouthed along, manifesting a piece of paper on his grasp towards the latter with the same words written on it.   
  
Mingyu hadn’t anticipated the former to respond but as he witnessed the other pointing to the top right side corner of the window where his name tag was scribed along with his photograph underneath, he concluded two possibilities about himself: 1) He was dumb and 2) He needs to stop having expectations.   
  
_Jeon Wonwoo. Right. Your name,_ Mingyu mentally stuttered.   
  
“How old are you?” Mingyu utilized the back side of the previous paper, refraining from wasting a remnant of nature according to his mother.   
  
The ebony-haired boy—Wonwoo—primarily held up ten fingers and subsequently followed by eight more fingers to which Mingyu learned he was a year younger than him. Wonwoo-hyung, he thought. That sounded nice in his ears. He probably would never address the older male with such honorific because last time he remembered he didn’t even call Soonyoung his hyung. Or maybe, he did. His mind had somehow boycotted any other notions in his brain other than his current situation.   
  
“I’m a year older than you! Do you still go to school?” Mingyu had scribbled then later had revealed.   
  
Wonwoo replied with a shake of his head, a decline.   
  
When the younger male was in the process of inscribing another question to a fresh piece of paper, he was unceremoniously interrupted by a banging sound and as an intuitive response, he immediately turned around to see if it was Seungkwan exhibiting his genuine identity once again but was met with the said boy’s sleeping frame. He scanned his eyes around with intensity and when he looked in front of him, he’d laid his attention on Wonwoo who was pointing at the pen and a relatively small opening—Mingyu hadn’t noticed it before—at the bottom of the window incessantly. Without much contemplation, Mingyu finally performed his eighth attempt at slipping the pen inside and whether it was a miracle or not, it succeeded and Mingyu thanked the deities.   
  
Before he could even register the scenario inside his conscience, he couldn’t help but feel as if the atmosphere shared a strong resemblance to watching an excellent movie. Some time ago, the boy with the nonchalant expression, the weary eyes, and the dark hair, was transformed into the being Mingyu gaped at--the boy with passion flooding his eyes, his undivided attention entangled towards the stationary, the statuesque boy watching as the gel pen glided seamlessly on his flesh, the boy whose lips curved in the corner to create a breathtaking smile that would have never been extinguished when he slipped the inked pen back to Mingyu. He was the producer, the director, the writer, the star of his own movie. In fact, he was the movie and Mingyu was just one of the thousands in the audience.   
  
After carefully grabbing the pen and slipping it inside his pocket, he found himself standing there and staring at the boy whose eyes were glued to the decorations on his palm, his lips in a soft smile. The taller male hadn’t known how the older boy actually utilized his pen—did he draw something? Perhaps, a doodle or a grotesque caricature? Or, was he tracing the creases on his palms thinking they might lead him to a destination? Mingyu came across the realization that he was only capable of making assumptions, using his mind as a formidable prognosticator, for when he blinked his almond eyes and looked at the boy in front of him, he had already drifted away to dreamland. He seized the opportunity and decided to lean in a little bit closer to satiate his curiosity, eyes capturing a perfect glimpse of the raven-haired’s opened palm, only to learn that the boy wasn’t sketching; he was writing paragraphs.   
  
. . . .   
  
The next time he took another rendezvous to the hospital and directly to a certain mysterious boy with the ebony locks, he’d brought a cup of coffee and the same gel pen from a week ago. He’d floated by the hallways and spotted the other patients from before yet strangely enough, scarcely any of them had changed their familiar positions and demeanors. He knew that Wonwoo—he felt a sense of satisfaction at knowing his name—wasn’t expecting to see him again and neither did he so when the first thing he’d laid his eyes upon was Wonwoo’s eyes slightly widening with an expression of utter bewilderment splashed on his face, he couldn’t possibly blame him.   
  
It wasn’t until he was in the midst of proffering the older male the cup of freshly brewed coffee did he realize that there was a forbidden wall pinned in front of him. He couldn’t fathom why the glass window seemed so daunting with its incapability to penetrate sounds as well as its prohibition in communication with the outside world—he’d thought of asking his mother but she wouldn’t understand either. He didn’t understand why the people he’d passed by with fugacious scrutiny had to be trapped in cages as if they were bloodthirsty beasts, didn’t understand why they looked so normal when they’re supposed to be psychotic, and didn’t understand why the sentences on Wonwoo’s palm had vanished.   
  
Without fishing out a blank piece of paper and scrawling a question about the missing letters on his skin, Mingyu instantaneously tucked the implement he’d firmly gripped onto since his arrival inside the small opening. It would’ve been an understatement to say that a delighted smile wasn’t in the verge of emerging as he’d witnessed the sudden transformation of the older male’s visage from crestfallen to relieved. It was a good sight, he thought. There was a significantly stark contrast between the latter’s eyes before and after he’d given the pen and the taller male noted that he’d like to see it more often.   
  
Before Mingyu left, the colorful stationery settled inside his pocket, he’d decided to leave the cup of coffee on the ground although he didn’t really knew why.   
  
The third time he’d visited him was two weeks after the previous one for the week before consisted of strenuous basketball practices, monochromatic musical rehearsals (courtesy to his mother’s persistent compelling as contributing in the school musical apparently shapes one’s future), pointless blind dates with Soonyoung and Seokmin, and an endless ocean of homework. This time, as he hasn’t had anything prepared because of his hectic schedules, he’d dragged along a book he’d randomly grabbed in the local library along with the same gel pen in his pocket.   
  
He’d planned—at least while he was strolling down the sidewalk—to read the paperback to Wonwoo but it wasn’t until he realized that the smaller, transparent version of the Great Wall of China was still there did he facepalmed himself. Perhaps, _he_ was the insane one.   
  
As his feet halted on the exact same quadrilateral on the floor since the first day of his visitation, for a split second, his eyes had met Wonwoo’s chocolate ones until the latter eventually broke the connection. That was weird. It usually takes a few more minutes until he looks away, Mingyu pondered. Nevertheless, he couldn’t help but noticed how despite all the hours, minutes, and seconds that had sailed away into the depths of the horizon every single time he visited, Wonwoo was still the same—same forlorn painting on his face, same curved position on his seat, same amygdaliform eyes that lost its twinkle anchored on the ground, and the same conspicuous, dark eyebags resting under them like a trustworthy confidant.   
  
Mingyu didn’t like it. He didn’t like how Wonwoo was always the same. He wanted to make a change. He just didn’t know how.   
  
Since the older male seemed to refuse to catch his frozen gaze even for a nanosecond, he decided the best approach to his peculiar action was to stick the gel pen under the small opening of the window along with wishing—praying—for the best. When he’d seen Wonwoo noticed the pen being slipped in, he watched his tremulous hands hesitate to reach it for a second before slowly picking it up with the tips of his fingertips and beginning to trace on his palms. Mingyu knew that there had to be something wrong with Wonwoo because usually, his eyes would be filled with enthusiasm upon seeing the magical pen, but he didn’t see it. Although he was convinced something was troubling his heart, a part of him didn’t really wanted to know because there were times when you don’t already need to know the truth because it’d already hurt.   
  
With the pen tucked comfortably in his pocket, he decided to abandon the paperback novel on the ground as well beside the cup of coffee that somehow managed to stay there before he made his way back up the hallway and to the exit door.   
  
The third time he’d taken a visit to the mental hospital was after a busy five months had flown by into the distance that consisted of even more additions to his already exhausting agenda. Soonyoung could finally provide him a ride home like usual with the exceptions of it being only two times a week since attendance to his dance rehearsals was still compulsory with a little leniency. However, in the other three days, he frequently found himself riding along in Jaehyun’s car, a classmate slash sort-of friend, whom he’d only just discovered resided a couple of blocks from his house. The moment in which he made his discovery was rather humiliating, however, but that was another story to tell.   
  
He’d also garnered great recognition from the school’s musical for a character that they claimed he’d portrayed rather well—a tree—and for a few weeks, he wasn’t really sure whether he should’ve taken their words and applauses as a compliment or an insult. His mother looked rather pleased in the audience after the performance, but initially discovering that his role was an anthropomorphized tree probably disappointed her quite a bit because Mingyu had completely forgotten to mention it to her. It wasn’t really of paramount importance. Last but not least, a moment that truly resonated within Mingyu’s heart was when he’d discovered that one of the most prestigious universities of South Korea had offered him a scholarship due to his athletic achievements. He hadn’t even graduated from the indelible epoch that was high school yet but he’d already felt like the universe was on his side.   
  
Nonetheless, when he arrived on the same exact spot his feet had adhered to several months ago and anticipated to see a raven-haired boy with an ineradicable despondent expression all over his face, he was instead met with nothing but a chamber filled with pure emptiness and realized that the universe might’ve not been on his side after all. Questions were floating around his head in a blistering motion, each one screaming for an answer, for a voice that could enlighten it, and for an indication of the older male’s presence. His silence was to no avail.   
  
His ravenous eyes that of a predator scoured his surroundings, seeking for a sight, a sound, a something that would become the key to all of his curiosities. He needed to know where Wonwoo was, why he didn’t find Wonwoo sitting in the same position with the same emotion in his eyes and the same expression on his face, why Wonwoo was suddenly gone...and why he didn’t he make a difference earlier. He’d realized that it was all his fault, that no matter where Wonwoo was, it was him who had gotten him there because he’d seen the older male suffering and yet, he allowed it to happen as if it was going to disappear on its own.   
  
With tears brimming in the corners of his eyes, it wasn’t until he looked down did he notice a pack of iridescent gel pens all with the colors of spectrum from all shades of red to the tints of violet lying down on the ground beside his book and a cup of coffee. He couldn’t help but notice the blue sticky notes slapped on all of the items, too.   
  
Eyebrows knitted in sheer perplexity, he cautiously peeled off the sticky note on top of the cup of coffee which read:   
  
**“This coffee is like a year old. Please take it home.”**   
  
Flipping the cerulean piece of paper over to see if the owner’s name was written, a frown crept up on his face upon seeing it blank before slowly removing the sticky note slapped on top of the book cover that said:  
  
**“I’ve already read this book before but I decided to re-read it again just for enjoyment. It somehow emanates a little bit of a different feeling now but I still hate the ending. It’s so tragic. Does the author think I’m going to sit down on my seat, read the last sentence of the book, and cry myself to sleep? I like happy endings. Happy endings are nice.”**  
  
Although Mingyu remained absolutely clueless of the owner’s identity, he couldn’t help but smile a little at their sense of humor.   
  
When he finally teared off the blue sticky note on top of the pack of rainbow-colored paradise, his plump lips immediately broke into the happiest smile he’d ever pulled off his entire life because maybe, he’d known the owner’s identity all along. On the note, it read:  
  
**“I’d never quite gotten your name but it’s okay, I guess. Thank you so much for letting me borrow your blue pen. It’s my favorite color. It felt really soft against my skin. I hope I can return the favor by buying you these packs of gel pens! Yours was running out of ink.”**   
  
Before receiving an opportunity to elicit an appropriate reaction, Mingyu suddenly heard a banging sound from behind him and instinctively, he turned around, nodding his head for no reason as it was indeed Seungkwan. Like before, he was doing the motion signal movement with his hands. He was about to let his mouth escape out a what do you want until he spotted Seungkwan slipping out a folded piece of his paper on his window’s small opening—Mingyu also hasn’t noticed it before—and he was a little bit intrigued at how Seungkwan had slipped the paper in so effortlessly as if he does it every morning.   
  
In between sneaking glances at the folded paper and averting his gaze towards Seungkwan’s direction, he eventually relented due to the shorter male’s adamant index finger pointing to the paper and shameless banging on the glass, and unraveled it only to have laid his eyes upon the most beautiful string of words he’d probably seen in his entire lifetime.   
  
**“Thank you, my savior. Thank you...for existing.”**  
  
Amidst his heart slowly melting into delicate fragments against his ribcage, his eyes looking as if a tear was about to trickle down his cheeks, his lips morphing into the brightest star in the universe, the boy behind the glass could only roll his eyes in annoyance at the sight.   
  
_What a weirdo,_ Seungkwan had thought to himself.   
  
. . . .   
  
There was something in the way the pen danced like a hypnotizing pirouette in between the lines as he held it impeccably between his fingertips, something in the way his face seemed to brighten like a luminescent neon sign on a restaurant door everytime he read aloud a comment about his writing on the screen, something in the way his smile outshined even the most dazzling constellations within the vast cosmos each time a sentence has been finished, something in the way his laughter could pacify a little crying infant in an instant, and there was something in the way he held up his book so proudly in front of the camera as if it was a crown while his chocolate eyes twinkled even under the lighting as if they had a story lying within them, waiting to be told.   
  
He’d realized that he’d never heard his voice even once but hearing it for the first time on the television, it felt surreal for it seemed as if he’s already listened to it a thousands times before. He had _that_ kind of voice. The kind of voice that’d make you realize that despite all the negativities and difficulties in the world, there was still some beautiful things as well.   
  
“I’d like to take this moment and focus on something important,” Wonwoo declared, magnetic eyes attracting the camera. “This book...I’m not going to say a lot about it but I’d just like to say that everything I’ve written is about my savior including this book. So, if you’re watching this…,” A smile resembling hot chocolate on a winter morning crawled up on the latter’s lips. “...then, hello.”  
  
Mingyu’s lips morphed into a grin. A huge grin. A grin that he could feel was consuming his insides but at the moment, he couldn’t care about anything else.   
  
“Oh my god, that’s you! He’s talking about you!” Soonyoung exclaimed enthusiastically, jumping up and down like a maniac. From behind the counter, Seokmin shook his head in playful disbelief as he served a customer a cup of coffee.   
  
“Shut up,” Mingyu whispered. “You’re attracting people’s attention.”  
  
Ignoring the younger male’s suggestion, Soonyoung responded, “Who cares? They deserve to know that my friend,” He began to enunciate each syllable, his voice progressively becoming louder. “...knows Jeon Wonwoo and not just any Jeon Wonwoo but _the_ Jeon Wonwoo.”  
  
“Oh my god, stop,” Mingyu remarked, slowly taking a few steps backwards to feign ignorance to be associated with anybody named Kwon Soonyoung.   
  
However, he couldn’t help the way his eyes found its way back on the television where it displayed a scene of the ebony-haired male diligently writing on a notebook inside a serene library.   
  
Mingyu’s eyes remained fixated at the screen, wondering about how indomitable the contents must’ve ought to be to have brought out the inner fervency lying behind the boy’s façade. Perhaps, it was a romantic anecdote about a forbidden love that was eventually conquered by the two lovers for love was the most powerful force of all. Or maybe it was a story delineating the adversity experienced by an innocent girl with her family, academics, work, and friendships that concluded with the protagonist completely changing herself for a fresh beginning. Or perchance, it could’ve been a short-story revolving around the lives of four teenagers who realized they withheld superpowers but without actually possessing the knowledge of exploiting them.   
  
However, the one thing he hadn’t known was that it’d always been about him.   
  
“Yo, bro,” Mingyu promptly snapped out of his reverie, turning around only to see Seokmin with a cup of coffee on his hand. “Want some coffee? I made an extra one.”   
  
“Nah, I’m good,” The taller male shook his head.   
  
Carefully placing the cup of warm cappuccino on the nearest table, Seokmin pointed out, “I thought you said that guy was crazy, right? Like, he was in the mental hospital your mom worked in or something? He must be really crazy.” The emphasis rendered Mingyu to swallow his saliva.  
  
Then suddenly, as he fell into the process of contemplating for a groundbreaking comeback that’ll render Seokmin regretful of his own words, Mingyu quickly retaliated, “He’s not crazy.”  
  
“What is he then?”  
  
He paused for a second. The young male found himself blocking everything in his surroundings and letting himself breathe in his own thoughts, live in his own mind, and listen quietly to the sonorous beats of his own heart. _Thump. Thump._ Perhaps, he shouldn’t have said anything because the following question was complicated in so many ways for Wonwoo was everything yet nothing all at once.   
  
He was the boy that relentlessly unscrambled letters into his palm like he was trying to connect the constellations with the fervor of his eyes and a blue pen. He was the boy that had the ability to remain stationary in the same place, in the same position, with the same expression splashed on his face behind the glass window. He was the boy that had a monstrosity of dark circles under his eyes to the extent that it could permeate his entire visage like an epidemic because it was probably difficult to fall asleep. He was the boy that sculpted a sense of definition and a sense of beauty to someone who wasn’t anything special at all. He was the boy that used the creases of his palms to navigate his way out of the labyrinth he was confined in. In his normal life, he was Wonwoo, but when he started writing, he became _the boy_ because the boy could do so many beautiful things with a pen.  
  
“Hey Mingyu, are you ok--”  
  
“He’s not crazy,” Mingyu repeated. “At all,” He could feel the word trapped in the back of his tongue, fighting to be said. “He’s a...a writer.”  
  
Seokmin arched a brow out of sheer confusion. It wasn’t because he didn’t understand what Mingyu had said yet it was because after Mingyu had uttered the last word, he looked different. He didn’t looked happy or sad or even in love—it was something more than that and he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it.   
  
Emitting a lighthearted laugh, Seokmin replied, “Huh? What are you talking about? But it honestly looks like you’ve changed him…,” He spared a quick glance towards the television screen. “How did you do that?”  
  
Exchanging a glimpse towards the direction of the television screen where a boy with locks as dark as the night sky, eyes as radiant as the moonlight, smile as beautiful as a field showered with roses, laughter as euphonious as a lover’s heartbeat, and a pen as if it’s been dipped in the sun-kissed ocean on his grasp, Mingyu said, “I gave him a pen.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, finally got those metaphors out of the way! i was watching a multitudinous amount of spoken word poetry yesterday so i think the effect just kind of rubbed off on me. i need to go to sleep.


End file.
